


Celebrity Sex Hair

by HBossWrites



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Boys In Love, Canon-typical language, Celebrity Sex Hair, Chronic Illness, Fighting, Friends taking care of each other, Haircuts, Humor, M/M, Non-Consensual Haircuts, Romantic Realizations
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-15
Updated: 2017-03-15
Packaged: 2018-10-05 10:32:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,435
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10304897
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HBossWrites/pseuds/HBossWrites
Summary: “Holy crap, Antoine! What happened to your hair?”Matthews stared at Bitters’ head, mouth agape, like the mouth breathing geek that he was, eyes filled with a level of horror typically saved for Captain Grif’s raid orders that involve sneaking past Agent Carolina, as Bitters felt his own head with a quickly growing sense of horror.Bitters was going to FUCKING kill someone. Probably a Fed someone, but Fed or not, someone was going to die.Bitters wakes up with his hair mutilated, and the Reds and Blues take care of their own.





	

“Holy crap, Antoine! _What happened to your hair_?”

Matthews stared at Bitters’ head, mouth agape, like the mouth breathing geek that he was, eyes filled with a level of horror typically saved for Captain Grif’s raid orders that involve sneaking past Agent Carolina, as Bitters felt his own head with a quickly growing sense of horror.

Matthews scrambled out of his bed, eyes filled with dismay. With a cold coil of dread in his stomach, Bitters ran his fingers through his hair. The right side was missing a large chunk, the hair left behind was all different lengths and jaggedly cut, as if the person had put too much hair between the blades of the scissors. The top of his head was treated in a similar fashion. The left side was cut just below his shoulder and hung limp.

Bitters was going to _fucking kill_ someone. Probably a Fed someone, but Fed or not, _someone was going to die._

Ever since they’d integrated the Federal Army of Chorus with the New Republic, both sides had gotten on each other’s nerves, but Bitters was in a class all his own. Bitters was well aware that he pissed people off. He excelled at pissing people off. It was second nature, like breathing or ducking out on training. It was a pleasure and a point of pride to piss off Feds to the point of retaliation, just to get them into trouble.

None of that excused the level of mutilation someone had done to him.

Even with the constant needling from both sides, the Feds and the New Republic had mostly managed to stop trying to kill each other every five minutes, but that apparently hadn’t stopped the Feds from being FUCKING ASSHOLES.

Bitters and Matthews had shared quarters for some time before being assigned to Gold Team (Orange Team), in fact being roommates was probably the reason they were assigned to Gold Team (Fucking Orange!) together. They weren’t best friends or anything lame like that, they’d just roomed together for years and there wasn’t a reason to split up.

Well, roomed together and sometimes shared a bed when things were rough.

Aaaaand, sometimes Matthews brush Bitters hair after a particularly rough day. And sure…sometimes Bitters returned the favor by rubbing Matthews back when his horrible cough came back.

Ok, yeah, they spent a lot of their downtime together. They were friends. It’s what friends do.

Point being, Matthews had been around long enough to know that Bitters was fucking proud of the length of his hair.

Most of the other soldiers cut their hair short to make helmets easier to deal with, but Bitters was not willing to make that change. He brushed, braided, and stored his hair every fucking day and would continue to do so until the war was over and he didn’t need to wear a fucking helmet anymore.

Except, he’d gotten shit about his ‘non-regulation’ hair length from multiple feds in the past few days, with increasing levels of frustration when he told them to shove it. There weren’t any rules in the New Republic about hair length unless your hair meant that you were less effective on the battlefield. Even then, Kimball would work with the soldiers to keep them happy.

Kimball herself had long frizzy hair that went everywhere when she took her helmet off. She didn’t give two shits about how long Bitters hair was.

Horrified by what he felt, Bitters looked to Matthews, who was still frozen. The other man had a look of quiet desperation etched into his face. Whatever Bitters felt, he knew it had to look a hell of a lot worse than he imagined.

The younger orange soldier’s voice took on a breathy whine.

“What happened?”

Matthews had been asleep when Bitters made it back to the base the night before, when his crappy lungs had put him out of commission. He was caught coughing by Doctor Grey, who’d insisted on a full workup and had declared him bedridden until she deemed it safe for him to be up and walking again. Because of that, he’d missed the grueling training session Bitters had been stuck with.

All of Gold Team (I am fucking _orange_ , Wash!) had been assigned extra training with Agent Washington since Captain Grif could not achieve the goals that had been set for him. Bitters thought it also had something to do with the raids on the mess hall finally being noticed by the Feds responsible for the counts. About the time they’d been assigned the extra training, the kitchen duty Feds had started giving him crap.

Bitters didn’t believe in much. He didn’t believe in ghosts, God, or genuine good will. He didn’t believe in coincidences either.

“I don’t know, but I have an idea.”

Bitters’ voice was cold.

Matthews actually whimpered, like he was the one who’d been violated, like he was the one who wasn’t safe in his own room. His hands shook, and gave a cough that tore from deep in his chest. As his mind twisted in rage, Bitters idly wondered if he should make Matthews sit down.

“Hold on, you stay here. Don’t move!”

Matthews raced from their bedroom.

There wasn’t a mirror in the room, and Bitters didn’t have anything on hand reflective enough to see what had been done, but he knew that it was bad. Matthews would have reassured him if it hadn’t been bad.

A churning sensation took over his stomach as he ran his fingers through what was left of his hair. If he hadn’t thrown up twice during Agent Washington’s intensive training the night before, he might have puked.

By the time Matthews made it back into the room, Bitters had managed to get himself into his body suit, but had given up on doing anything else. The churning in his stomach had mixed with an unpleasant numbness throughout the rest of his body and a fuzzy, cotton wool feeling in his head.

Matthews came in wearing his full armor, carrying Bitters’ armor with him. He nudged the door shut with his butt and dropped Bitters’ helmet with a quiet curse.

Bitters cocked his head to the side.

“You’re not supposed to be in armor until Doctor Grey lets you. If she sees you, she might cut your legs off just to have an excuse to work on her robotic limbs.”

Matthews coughed into his helmet. The sounds definitely came from deep in his chest, and did not sound like it had improved from the day before. The young man’s lungs had never properly recovered from a chemical bombing by the Federal Army several years before. Matthews could function well most days, but every now and again his lungs would simply be less effective than they needed to be.

Bitters was afraid that one day his roommate (Friend? Family? What do you call the person you’d lived with for years and occasionally traded backrubs with?) would push himself too hard and his lungs would simply collapse from the strain.

“I couldn’t carry your armor out of armor, it’s too heavy. This way we can report what happened, and no one will see.

“Besides, I think she’s already doing the robotic limbs thing on Captain Simmons.”

With a groan, Matthews put the armor on the ground. He got down on his knees and pulled a small box from under his bed, then handed it to Bitters.

There were several ration bars and bottles of water stored inside.

“What is this?”

“Secret stash. Just in case Captain Grif is hungry and we’re not in a position to raid the kitchen. He prefers sugary snack cakes, but those are a little hard to get ahold of, and he probably wouldn’t be happy if he found out I was hoarding those.”

Bitters shook his head, but smiled fondly. There was Matthews the thinker, always planning what to do next, bound and determined to make life easier for the people around him. He was wasted on the battlefield.

“Matthews, you are such a kissass.”

With a sigh that sounded like disappointment, Matthews turned and faced the door.

“Maybe, but that’s never been a problem before. You should finish getting dressed.”

Bitters had no idea why Matthews felt the need to stare the front door down, since Bitters was technically fully clothed and Matthews had seen him naked on an almost daily basis for years, but quickly ate a ration bar and got himself into armor anyway.

The two men set out to track down either Agent Washington or General Kimball. A break in, into what should be a safe area and a physical attack like this, would need to be handled carefully.

They made it to the armory for a cursory glance, saw Agent Washington flail his arms as he fought with the Spanish speaking robot Lopez, and made a beeline for the man. The room was filled with Federal and Republic soldiers who all milled about or waited in line to be equipped with their weapons. Jensen was in the corner with Volleyball, her hands waved around excitedly as she spoke. Captain Grif was leaned against the wall near Agent Washington and Lopez, oozing nonchalance.

Off to the side of the room, Bitters recognized three of the Federal soldiers who were not decked out in their armor yet. They were the kitchen Feds who’d given him such a hard time over the past few weeks. One of them pointed at him, and they all burst into laughter.

Bitters eyes narrowed, and he marched over to them and crossed his arms over his chest, bloodlust made his fingers twitch. He managed to get the recording equipment to start in his helmet cam before he did anything else.

“Do you have something you want to say to me, assholes?”

The three of them snickered. One, who Bitters thought was named Jones, managed to stop giggling long enough to motion to his hair…or where his hair would be in the helmet.

“It looks like you’ll have to cut your hair after all, New Redumblic.”

The insult was completely childish, but the three Feds laughed into their hands as if it was the source of whit. Matthews laid his hand on Bitters shoulder, tried to pull him away, tried to spare him the humiliation. Bitters would not allow himself to be moved.

“So, you’re actually going to admit that you broke into my room and cut off my hair?”

“Oh, did someone do that? Good for them! You had a rat’s nest on your head and it was disgusting.”

One of the female Feds nearby whispered ‘What’s going on?’, while people slowly gathered around. Matthews whipped his head around in a panic, hoping one of the higher ranked soldiers would see, but so far they were mostly distracted by other things.

“Fuck. You.”

The three Feds laughed even harder. One held up a hand and made his index and middle finger make scissor motions, and they all laughed as if it was the funniest thing they’d ever seen.

Several people stared hard, and more turned to watch by the minute. Jensen and Volleyball had moved to watch, horrified, along with a group of Fed girls that were assigned with Captain Simmons. It didn’t take a genius to realize that the Fed soldiers were being supreme assholes to cause Bitters to react that way.

If Bitters could think, he would have told the three that he’d recorded the whole thing, and what would General Doyle think of them assaulting a soldier on the other side when things were already on edge?

Washington caught sight of the gathered group just as Bitters broke.

Bitters leapt at the three, gloved hand curled into a fist, and beat the three men down. One got a hard punch to the face, and Bitters felt his nose crunch under his fist. One of them fell to the ground and started to crawl away, terrified screams ripped from his throat the whole time.

An orange hand grabbed Bitters arm and pulled him hard.

Captain Grif spun Bitters around (where did he come from?) and grabbed him by the shoulders. He shoved his face directly into Bitters and held him there. Bitters had never seen the other man so angry.

“Bitters! What in the fuck was that?!”

His hands wouldn’t stop shaking. He turned to the Captain, and managed to bite out a response.

“Nothing.”

Captain Grif stomped up to him and pointed at the three unarmored Feds on the ground, they all looked at Bitters with teary eyed horror on their faces. Blood poured from Jones’ nose. Watching him cry and press his hands to the wound was pretty satisfying.

“That is not nothing! You can’t just attack soldiers out of armor! You could have killed them!”

Matthews motioned the surrounding soldiers to back off, as Captain Grif attempted to cool down Bitters. Anyone who knew the orange soldier could see that he was panicked from his erratic motions.

Bitters hadn’t intended for Matthews to get scared.

He switched over to the Gold Team (FOR THE LOVE OF GOD JUST SAY ORANGE! IT’S NOT THAT HARD!) radio channel.

“They cut my hair while I was sleeping.”

The bystanders finally fell into action and dragged the three men off. Bitters heard one of them sob like a child.

His heart beat unbearably loud in his chest.

Washington marched up to the two of them.

“Grif, get him the hell out of here.”

Captain Grif hauled Bitters out of the room, his grip surprisingly strong. Bitters didn’t know where his Captain had decided to cart him off to, and at that point just didn’t care anymore. When Captain Grif dragged him into the barracks and into the room he shared with Captain Simmons, Bitters blinked in confusion, but kept silent.

Captain Simmons was in the room, his leg bandaged and elevated while he typed on a tablet. Grey had started to replace some of Captain Simmons robotic parts while he was off duty anyway after he caught a stray bullet to his good leg. This meant that the man was doubly restricted in his ability to move and he was sequestered in the room until further notice. When he looked up, Bitters noted that Captain Simmons wore an expression of confusion. Must not have gotten a lot of company in their room in the past.

“Grif?”

“Not now, Simmons.”

Captain Grif shoved Bitters to the empty bed, the only other place to sit, and turned to lock the door. He turned slowly and motioned upwards twice. Bitters didn’t recognize the sign, and chose not to move until he did.

“Helmet off.”

Bitters took a deep breath and sighed. When he finally got the helmet off of his head he heard Captain Grif quietly mutter ‘fuck’ and Captain Simmons make a gob smacked ‘the hell?’. Captain Grif tossed his helmet onto the bed and looked over Bitters head with a serious face.

“Ok, you’ve got two options as far as I can see. You can let your hair stay like that,”

Nothing would make that happen. He didn’t need to see what had been done to know that it was awful. At some point he would have to be fit to go into public without the worry that he would be mocked or pitied for how he looked.

“Or you can let me fix that for you.”

Bitters blinked hard.

“How?”

Grif shifted awkwardly, and Bitters realized that his captain was uncomfortable.

“I’m pretty good at cutting hair. Got a lot of practice with my little sister and working on the guys back in Blood Gulch.”

Captain Simmons nodded.

“It’s true, Grif managed to find a way to cut my hair that didn’t involve shaving my head.”

“Dude, you’ve got curls. A little conditioner keeps them curly and stops it from frizzing up, it’s not that hard.”

Simmons shook his head and then actually wagged his finger at his roommate.

“You would be surprised at how few people are capable of performing a cut on naturally curly hair. It’s a problem.”

Grif sighed.

“Whatever, look, the point is that I can do something to at least make it look better than it does right now. Not like that would take much at this point.”

Bitters ran his gloved hand through the misshapen mess that was left on his head. He thought about his mother, who’d had long hair until the day she’d died on the battlefield. His sister, who’d prided herself on her self-care routine of brushing her hair until it gleamed. His father, who would take the time every night to brush Antoine’s hair and braid it so it wouldn’t get in the way.

Caring for his hair had been like connecting to them. It was the closest he could get to having his family back.

Now it was gone. Just another thing that the war had taken. Compared to losing his family, it wasn’t anything important. It didn’t matter.

It was just hair.

“Sure. Whatever.”

Captain Simmons looked unhappy about the remark, but before he could open his mouth, Captain Grif nodded started to strip off his armor.

“Get comfy, Dude, this is going to take a while.”

While Bitters stripped out of his armor, Captain Grif knelt down and reached under the bed for a bright pink, bedazzled kit. The sight was enough to break Bitters concentrated ‘I don’t care enough to have emotions’ face that he’d spent years perfecting.

Captain Grif grimaced at it, but popped it open and pulled out an honest to god salon cape, that thankfully wasn’t pink.

“Gotta thank Donut for this one. I hate the case, but it’s got everything we need.”

Before Bitters knew what was happening, Grif had managed to pull a folding stool out of the bedroom locker, forced him onto it, draped the cape around him, and started to spray down what was left of his hair with a spray bottle. Bitters flinched and tried to pull away, only to be yanked back onto the stool by a firm hand.

“Relax, it’s just water.”

Bitters lowered his head and shivered when some of the water trailed down his neck and was caught by the cape. He felt vulnerable in a way that he hadn’t in a long time. The only person he’d been out of armor around for an extended period of time in years was Matthews, and his friend (Roommate? Non-Sexual Not-Boyfriend? How does one quantify a relationship where you sometimes sleep in the same bed because you can’t handle the quiet, and you enjoy it because the other party is really fucking adorable?) was harmless enough that Bitters never worried about him.

“What are you going to do?”

“I’m gonna try to save as much length as I can, but I’ve got to tell you, it’s not looking good. You’re not gonna be able to braid it for a while. They fucked up your sides pretty well. And your top. And basically everything. Fucking assholes.”

Captain Grif ran his fingers through the sides and let the hair fall out as he pulled through. Bitters hadn’t had his hair cut in years, but the motion felt familiar.

“Yeah, it’s gonna be short, dude. They left you with a few pretty bald spots.”

A gust of air puffed out of Bitters’ nose.

“Figures.”

“You got any preferences for how this goes down?”

He shook his head and looked at his knees.

“Just…try not to make me look like a geek.”

Captain Simmons snorted while Captain Grif actually laughed.

“Dude, if I make you look like a geek, it makes us both look bad. Tell you what, I’m gonna even this out first, and then we’ll figure out what we’re doing with what we’ve got left.”

With that, the man set to work. Captain Simmons mostly turned back to his tablet, though he occasionally looked up at them and would nod in approval or smile reassuringly. Bitters tried to keep quiet as he heard the sound of scissors working and saw snips of hair fall to the floor, but he couldn’t help the occasional distressed grunt or suppressed whine every time he watched a thick lock fall.

The man worked in silence for a while before there was a loud pounding on the door.

Captain Simmons groaned and brought his tablet closer to his face. With a loud sigh, Captain Grif strode to the door, scissors still in hand, and unlocked it. Agent Washington was on the other side. Without a word, he shoved past Captain Grif and took in the sight of Bitters on the stool with the cape on.

“Hey there, Wash. Come on in, have a seat, why don’t you?”

Captain Grif shut the door again and circled around Agent Washington to get back to work on Bitters. He hissed at the man when he shifted in his seat, and pulled him forcibly back into position. Grif muttered about stabbing uncooperative people in the neck.

“Matthews told me, in between his hacking, that the Feds you attacked had broken into your room and attacked you first, last night. _They_ said that they played a prank on you, and the assault was because of that, is that correct?”

Captain Grif snarled and pointed the scissors at Agent Washington in a manner that actually managed to look threatening. Bitters couldn’t see it, but Captain Grif wore an expression of barely held together fury. Captain Simmons tried to keep his face hidden, partly to avoid setting off his roommate, and partly to avoid bursting into tears. He didn’t do well with conflict, and especially not when he was high on painkillers.

“They snuck into his room and fucking cut off chunks of his hair, Wash. That’s not a fucking prank. It’s just fucked.”

For a minute, Agent Washington just stood there in silence and looked at them. Bitters idly wondered what the Freelancer was thinking, looking at him. Could the man see how pitiful Antoine felt? How crushed he was? How embarrassed and ashamed and humiliated?

Agent Washington nodded and uncrossed his arms. His voice was still the ‘I’m a serious Freelancer and there is not a bit of nonsense in my bones’ tone of voice, but he’d managed to soften it in a way that made Bitters feel…not talked down to, but comforted.

“I agree that it was not funny, never the less, you’re on dish duty for three weeks. One week for every person you attacked today, and I hope that you will learn from this and never attack someone out of armor while you are in it again.”

Bitters knew that someone out there had looked out for him. Dish duty for assault? No way that was a normal punishment. You got dish duty for being stupid or annoying Kimball, not for breaking bones and attempted murder.

Captain Grif put the scissors down and threw up an accusatory finger at Agent Washington. He stalked around Bitters, finger still raised, and poked Agent Washington hard in the chest in a way that was certain to hurt his finger and do nothing to annoy the Freelancer.

“Man, that is some grade A bullshit! If it had been me, I would have fucking killed them! They broke into his room, somewhere he’s supposed to be safe, and they chopped off his hair! Do you even understand why this is so upsetting?!”

Agent Washington sighed and raised his hand to his helmet, as if he could massage his eyes through the faceplate.

“If he wanted to avoid punishment, he shouldn’t have taken matters into his own hands, especially when he was wearing armor and they were not. As you mentioned earlier, _Captain Grif,_ he could have killed them.”

Captain Grif stalked back behind Bitters, a furious snarl on his lips the whole way.

“Fucking bullshit.”

Grumbling under his breath, Captain Grif got back to work in his attempt to salvage what was left of Bitters hair. Bitters knew that he was going to lose a lot more than he’d managed to keep so far, and wondered if he should just bite the bullet and let Captain Grif shave his head.

The thought made something twist in his stomach, and Bitters grimaced.

“Lieutenant Bitters.”

Bitters looked up, and Captain Grif froze. Agent Washington approached the two men and actually fucking knelt so that he could meet Bitters face to helmet.

Something about the whole interaction felt wrong. It felt shameful. Like being sent to the principal’s office in elementary school. Like the principal catching him crying because he didn’t want to be in trouble anymore. Bitters squared his shoulders and stared the helmet head on. He was not about to cry in front of anyone, ever, for any reason.

Ok, except for that one time with Matthews when he showed Bitters that video of the kitten meowing and climbing up Andersmith’s armor…but that didn’t count. It was Matthews, he was basically family (except not, because no one who was not a parent should ever see that much naked skin from someone) and would never tell a soul that Bitters cried because of a kitten that was too precious for this world.

“Officially, you have three weeks of doing dishes, meals, PT, and that’s it. Otherwise, you’re restricted to your quarters. That’s it though. You won’t be sent to prison for assault, you won’t receive another reprimand past this, though you might have a talk with Doctor Grey about anger management. Kimball may also give you a dressing down personally, but I don’t think she will, since she gave me permission to handle this.”

Something about that statement seemed off.

“And unofficially?”

“Unofficially and off the record, if someone had come into my room and cut my hair, there is no might or maybe about it. I would have actually killed them. So far, the only people who actually know what is going on are the Reds and Blues, but even so, you’ve gained quite a bit of sympathy around the base. Trust me, they are not coming out favorably in this, even if you did beat the crap out of them. I think that they are going to find life a lot less comfortable than they did just a few days ago.”

Captain Grif laughed, the sound bitter and it dripped with disbelief.

“Meaning what?”

Captain Simmons shifted on his bed. Bitters tried not to stare as his mechanical parts moved, but it really was fascinating to look at. Katie had once said it was like watching a car move without the shell being in the way. She wasn’t wrong.

“I’ve been keeping up with the rest of the guys. Donut has restricted their access in the armory. Caboose says that mean people aren’t allowed the good food in the cafeteria, I get the feeling he’s getting Andersmith to change their meals. Sarge is threatening to use them for target practice. Tucker says that he’s talked to the girls around the base and they’ve all agreed that those three are poison, and none of them are going be having sex for a while. I even got a message from Church saying that they are going to be receiving private training from Carolina, since ‘you might have hurt them too much to be in with the rest of the army’. And that’s just the Reds and Blues.”

Agent Washington laughed and stood up.

“Damn, I was hoping to take over on that front. I suppose it’ll be more believable if she’s taking them on separately. They are going to wish you’d killed them by the end of the first day.”

Bitters shook his head.

“Why is everyone suddenly jumping on them?”

Captain Grif smacked him on the back of the head.

“Because you’re part of the team, dumbass. You may be a lazy, insubordinate, son of a bitch, but you’re our lazy, insubordinate, son of a bitch. And nobody fucks with us.”

Bitters was surprised by how good that statement made him feel.

Agent Washington moved over to Captain Simmons and started a conversation about how he was felt. How was Doctor Grey treating him? Did she have some better solutions to his cybernetic parts? Eventually, Bitters was lulled into relaxation by Captain Grif’s hands and the gentle voices. It took a lot of effort to ignore the snipping sounds, but Bitters tried to focus on the positives. The sensation of the haircut wasn’t the most unpleasant thing ever, though Captain Grif’s hands were not nearly as comforting as Matthews when the other man ran his fingers through.

It was probably a sign…of what, Bitters didn’t have the energy to speculate. He probably needed to take some time and actually figure out what the deal was with his…roommate/not-boyfriend who Bitters realized he’d spent a lot of time touching the other man in what was probably not a platonic sort of way. Could it be platonic after the night Matthews was drunk and he’d literally kissed Bitters scraped knee to ‘help it heal faster’? Dear God, they were weird.

He almost didn’t realize that Agent Washington had addressed him.

“How do you feel about the color orange?”

Bitters and Captain Grif exchanged a look. Was that a literal question? Why did it matter how he felt about a color? Suddenly, a chill went down Bitters’ spine. Was he being removed from Gold ( _FUCKING ORANGE FOR THE LOVE OF GOD!!!_ ) team? It was possible, he’d been placed with Captain Grif because he was trained and skilled enough to be with the Reds and Blues.

It was only after they’d been assigned that anyone realized it was like the blind leading the blind. Or in Captain Grif’s case, the completely physically, mentally, and emotionally challenged leading the blind.

Would they really remove him from the team for this?

“I think it’s a good color on me, Sir.”

Agent Washington unclasped his helmet, and tucked it under his arm. The first thing Bitters noticed was that the man had a sly grin on his face, like he knew something that no one else did. The second was that he had bleached blond hair on the top of his head, but the sides were pure black with an odd design dyed and shaved into it. Holy crap, when had he done that?

The second thing he noticed was that even with scars on his face and neck and wrinkles around his eyes, Wash looked fucking _young_. Like…hang around the skate park, young.

“I couldn’t agree more, Lieutenant. Unofficially, I just so happen to know where some bleach is floating around, and someone who may or may not be able to mix you up something bright and ‘non-regulation’, if that’s something you’re interested in.”

So, either word had gotten out or Agent Washington had overheard why they’d done it in the first place. He’d never really considered dyeing his hair in the past, but…if Agent Washington made an offer, it probably wasn’t a prank. At least, not a prank at Bitters expense. And it would royally piss off the fucking Feds.

“Um…sure.”

“Have you ever done a dye job before, Grif?”

Captain Grif shook his head.

“Nope. Sister always had one of her girlfriends do that part.”

Agent Washington smiled and stood back up.

“That’s fine. I’ve got a favor or two I can trade in for this one, and it’ll definitely be worth it to wipe the smug grins off of their faces. I’m going to go…get supplies, I suppose. Might as well do this all at once.”

With that Agent Washington was out the door, and Captain Grif went back to cutting.

Antoine hadn’t been a team player ever. He would work with people when he had to, but he’d always found that people would let him down. Even as a kid, he’d known better than to trust people who didn’t have a vested interest in his happiness. Someone would think it was funny to pick on the weird kid, and soon everyone would think it was a fucking game.

As time went by, Bitters learned to not give a single shit about people who treated him poorly. Anyone who tried to make him feel like crap got ten times back with no remorse. Better to let them think he was an abrasive asshole than have them realize he was afraid of them. He’d made a reputation of allowing no one to be safe from his cutting remarks.

“Hey, Bitters, how do you feel about an undercut with orange streaks on top?”

And yet…

Here was Captain Grif, who regularly gave Bitters more shit than anyone had in years, cutting his hair so it wouldn’t look completely stupid. Agent Washington, the guy with the stick shoved so far up his ass it would come out his mouth, offered to dye his hair just to fuck with the people who fucked with him. And Captain Simmons had apparently coordinated everyone punishing his bullies, because he cared. Because they all cared.

They might make fun of him, but for some reason, they also liked him. Bitters decided that he could trust them enough for this.

“I don’t know what an undercut is.”

Grif brushed his hand around the back of Bitters head.

“We shave all of this short,”

Then he ran his fingers over the top of Bitters’ head, flipping the significantly shortened lengths that were there.

“and we leave this a little long. It’s celebrity sex hair, according to Donut.”

Bitters frowned and turned to look at Grif.

“I want to grow it back out.”

Captain Grif nodded.

“I get you, but you’re super short on one side. Like almost bald short, and I’m trying, but I can’t make it longer. What I can do is make it look like it’s short on purpose.”

Bitters shrugged. Word was out by this point, he was sure. He knew that none of the New Republic would believe it was his own choice, and the Feds wouldn’t care. This could not be about what they thought of him. It had to be his choice.

Captain Simmons shifted on his bed.

“Think about it this way, once your sides grow out, your top can just be cut to match.”

Grif and Bitters shared a look, then shook their heads.

“Whatever.”

“Alright, I’m just gonna do whatever, and you can sing my praises later.”

Grif pulled out an electric razor and went to work. Bitters squeezed his eyes shut to avoid the sight of more of his hair falling.

Once the actual shave was complete, the haircut was surprisingly soothing. Captain Simmons clicked his tongue as he worked on his tablet, and Captain Grif hummed under his breath. Bitters didn’t recognize the songs, but they were very pop-ish.

Captain Grif didn’t have a hair dryer, so they couldn’t see the final look, but he seemed confident that he’d done well. Which was good, because there was not a mirror in the room either. Not that Bitters wanted to look at what was left of him. Captain Simmons began to insist Captain Grif sweep the floor since he’d finished the haircut.

Bitters took a deep breath and pulled off the cape, hair remnants were flung everywhere in the process. Captain Simmons let out a squawk and flailed as hair landed on his bed while Grif laughed and Captain Simmons sputtered indignantly.

The door burst open, and Captain Tucker charged in, Agent Washington behind him, several bottles and a bag of supplies cradled in his arms. The grey clad soldier looked on in exasperation…which didn’t make sense because Bitters couldn’t actually see his face.

He was surprisingly expressive for being in full body armor all the time.

“Back up, we’ve got a hair emergency and I am the man to fix it. Where’s the patient?”

Captain Grif pointed to Bitters, who started to regret the coloring idea. He didn’t need or want Captain Tucker anywhere near his hair.

He had no idea where those hands had been.

What was Agent Washington thinking, calling on the biggest flake of the group for this sort of thing? Asking this guy to do anything seemed to be a bad idea. The only possible worse option would be Captain Caboose, who would mean well, but would probably blind himself with bleach.

“You’re the one doing this?”

Captain Tucker put a hand on his hip and stuck his finger in Bitters’ face, and Bitters attempted to bat Captain Tucker’s hand away. It was less effective than he’d hoped, what with the other man being in full body armor and Bitters only being in his under suit.

“You’re dammed right I’m doing this, and you ought to be thankful. If I’d left it to Wash, he’d just give you a giant bleached clump on the top of your head. If it’s not full coverage, he doesn’t know what he’s doing.”

“I am not that bad.”

Captain Tucker started to strip off his armor. Helmet, chest plate, gloves, until he was wearing nothing but the body suit from the waist up. Bitters hadn’t had much time around Captain Tucker without his helmet on, so he forgave himself for missing that the man had very subtle blue streaks through his dreads.

They looked good.

“Me, on the other hand, I’ve been doing hair since I was old enough to realize that most white people don’t give a shit about ‘ethnic’ hair. I know what I’m doing, and I’m not going to accidentally make shit fall out or look like shit. I’m very experienced. Bow Chika Wow Wow.”

Captain Grif and Bitters both groaned.

“Weak.”

With a grin, Captain Tucker grabbed several bottles from Agent Washington and dropped to the floor cross legged. He mixed different chemicals from the bottles into a bowl, muttering about ratios the whole time. Agent Washington took off his helmet and smiled down at the black man on the floor.

Bitters hadn’t expected the man to look so fond.

“Dude, grab a shirt you don’t mind getting ruined. If this drips, your bodysuit is going to have spots on it.”

Bitters just shrugged again. What did he care if the suit was stained? It’s not like it had any sort of sentimental value. The New Republic’s armor was all scavenged from abandoned places around the planet.

Captain Tucker just stared at him expectantly.

“It doesn’t bother me.”

“Whatever, Dude. It’s your clothes. Alright, I’m ready.”

With that, Captain Tucker bleached several locations, small streaks of blond that were just too bright to look right but for where they were, it was perfect. He motioned Agent Washington and Captain Grif to the front. Captain Simmons shifted in the bed and nodded in satisfaction at how it looked.

“What do you think of the placement?”

Agent Washington nodded.

“Looks good, not enough to be too much, dispersed effectively. It’ll do.”

Captain Grif grunted in agreement.

“Yeah, it’s passable, Blue. What are you thinking for color?”

Captain Tucker scoffed.

“Dude, fuck you. I’m thinking we mix up some orange and some darker blond. What do you think, Bitters, wanna make it match your armor?”

It wasn’t until the idea was mentioned that the thought even occurred to him. His hair could match his armor. Why was that so fucking cool? Bitters definitely wanted to match his armor. He couldn’t think of anything he wanted more at that moment.

Still, to tell them that would not be cool, and as his captain regularly said, ‘nothing is more important than being cool’.

“Whatever. You’re the hair expert, aren’t you?”

Captain Tucker grinned and pushed Bitters back onto the stool.

“Fuck yeah, I am! You guys heard that, right? That’s consent. I’m gonna do whatever the fuck looks good!”

Agent Washington looked at Captain Tucker with concern.

“Tucker…”

“Dude, when I’m done you are gonna pick up sooooo many chicks!”

Bitters thought about the bizarre thoughts he’d had all day about his nerdy roommate (and the realization that either both of them had serious boundary issues in regards to each other or they were both really fucking oblivious), and the thought of his gay ass picking up chicks and laughed. Hard.

The other men froze, and Captain Tucker grinned wider.

“I got him to laugh! That’s fucking awesome! I am a badass.”

Bitters shrugged. He figured they’d be cool with the whole’ gay thing’ what with Captains Grif and Simmons being practically married and Captain Tucker and Agent Washington’s mutual pining, but was not ready to announce it to the world. Nothing stayed a secret when the Reds and Blues were involved, and Antoine decided he should probably get Matthews to agree to date him before he announced to the world that he had a big, gay crush on the poor man.

“I just can’t imagine myself picking up anyone with the power of my hair alone. It’s a weird thought.”

Captain Grif threw an arm over Bitters shoulders.

“Oh, don’t be so hard on yourself. You’re a maverick, and mavericks always get the girl in the end.”

Captain Tucker shoved Captain Grif out of the way and started to apply the colored dye.

Bitters didn’t know how long he sat there with foil and product in his hair. He watched the other men bicker and poke at each other, and couldn’t help the sense of familiarity that washed over him.

When it was finally time to wash out the dye, Agent Washington cleared the hall to the nearest bathroom and Captain Grif and Captain Tucker walked at Bitters’ sides.

No one would let Bitters look until he’d been washed out and blow dried. Captain Tucker even managed to find a bottle of hair product (‘Donut can find anything for the right price.’ ‘What was the right price?’ ‘Grif, dude, don’t ask.’) and ran it through Bitters hair.

When he managed to make it to the mirror, Bitters couldn’t shake the feeling that his reflection was someone else entirely.

The man in the mirror looked younger, not just because he was colorful. For the first time in years Antoine didn’t look like his father, he didn’t look like someone who’d died for the cause. A weird twisting sensation picked up in his chest.

Captain Grif clapped his shoulder.

“Dude, say something.”

Bitters scowled at the mirror. He wanted a handle on what he was feeling before he said anything. This was so far away from normal he didn’t know how to really cope.

“If it’s really that bad, we can always dye it back.”

“Hey, what makes you think that it’s my dye job that’s got him all quiet? Maybe he really hates the haircut!”

Agent Washington carefully pulled the captains away.

“Just give him a minute.”

It wasn’t a bad look. Bitters had the right face shape to work with it, and the color scheme actually went well with his skin tone, something he hadn’t ever expected to have to think about (Dear god, was Matthews rubbing off on him? Was _Donut_?). His whole body actually felt lighter, as if a weird weight of expectation had been lifted off his shoulders along with his braid.

“I like it.”

When Bitters turned around, the three men all grinned at him. Bitters grinned back.

“Man, you’re gonna pick up sooooo many chicks.”

Agent Washington led Bitters back to his room, with the understanding that the younger man would stay there for the day, while he attempted to smooth things out between the two armies.

Matthews was in bed, barely awake, with a deep cough that greeted the two men. Agent Washington looked at Bitters with concern.

“Maybe we should find you a different place to stay.”

“Nah, he gets like this sometimes. It’s not contagious. I’ll be fine.”

With that, Bitters flopped back onto his bed and waved until Agent Washington laughed and left.

“Antoine, your hair…”

Bitters grinned a little.

“Combined efforts of Captain Grif, Captain Tucker, and Agent Washington. It’s not bad, right?”

Matthews shook his head and coughed low and deep in his chest. His whole body shook and wracked with the force of his cough, and Bitters chest ached in sympathy. Once Matthews finally finished hacking, he pulled his blanket tight around his shoulders.

“Looks good. I like it.”

They sat in relative silence for a while. Every time Matthews would settle himself to lay down, the coughs would start up again in earnest. Bitters tried to read for a while, but the pitiful coughs got to him, just like they had the last time Matthews had gotten sick.

Bitters sighed and stood up. He brought his book and blanket with him to Matthews bed.

“Shove back.”

Matthews flushed and shuffled back enough for Bitters to get into his bed and lean against the wall. Bitters draped his blanket over the one Matthews already had and pulled the other man to lay against his chest. The elevation would help deter the coughing a little.

Once the other man was settled, Bitters put one hand on his back and opened his book with the other.

“Try to get some sleep. I’ve got you.”

Matthews settled in.

“Thanks.”

 

 

\----------

 

 

Bitters grabbed his tray and headed to the cafeteria to actually eat with the other lieutenants for the first time in three days. So far he’d managed to avoid being in public while taking his helmet off and it seemed like Matthews had kept his mouth shut since no one asked what had happened. When he finally sat down with Andersmith, Jensen, and Palomo, and took off his helmet to eat, the others gasped.

Palomo pointed at Bitters head, as if the other man wouldn’t realize that the reaction was because of his haircut.

“Wow, Bitters, your hair is so different!”

Jensen managed a garbled ‘celebrity sex hair’ and made a flailing motion, while Andersmith stood up and examined it from every angle.

“The person who did your hair for you has done an excellent job, Bitters. I hope that you tipped them well.”

Bitters ran his fingers through his hair and sat down to eat.

Everyone was normal around him, as if they thought he’d just gotten a haircut. Someone must have said something. He noticed several looks from nearby New Repubs, but didn’t see any of the pitying looks or anger on his behalf that he expected. Instead, many of them seemed to have…admiration on their faces?

Bitters managed to get halfway through his food before Jensen laughed and shook her head.

“I jusht can’t believe how sheriously you boysh take your betsh. I wouldn’t have done that for anyshing, even if it doesh look really cool.”

Bitters stopped and looked at her.

“What are you talking about?”

Jensen smiled at Bitters and twirled her hair.

“Well, Matthews told ush that you losht a bet with Captain Grif, and he ashed you to cutsh your hair. The Fedsh made fun of you for looshing, and you beat shem up for it.”

Bitters shrugged.

“They had it coming.”

He hadn’t expected Matthews to cover for him. When had his…when did he have the time? Where did he find the energy? The guy couldn’t do too much walking while his lungs were messed up.

It was no wonder he was so wrecked when Bitters got back to the room. The poor guy must have worked his already pained lungs into exhaustion.

They finished eating, conversation was easier with the weight off of Bitters shoulder, and he made his way to the kitchen for dish duty. He wasn’t worried about taunts for the first time in days. When Jessica ran up to him and gushed about his ‘sexy new look’, he didn’t even bother to hold back a smile. She ran her fingers through his hair several times and proclaimed his dye job to be ‘awesome and sooooo hot!’, which was exactly what he wanted.

Only he’d hoped for that reaction from a certain Gold Team (you know what? I’m not going to respond anymore until you people get your shit together and realize that this is FUCKINGORANGETEAM GOD DAMN YOU ALL!!!) member.

She stuck around after dish duty to escort him back to his room, and they must have stood outside for twenty minutes while she pontificated on the many virtues of Captain Simmons and his delightfully squeaky voice.

They said goodnight. She ran her fingers through his hair one more time, then bounced off, no doubt in search of someone else to be ridiculous with. Probably Jensen.

Bitters walked into his room and saw that Matthews was on his bed, with his arms wrapped around his knees.

“Hey, Matthews, are you ok?”

“Oh, hey Bitters.”

Confused, Bitters sat down on Matthews’ bed and poked his roommate in the side. The smaller man squirmed and shifted away from Bitters, an unusual behavior for the tactile young man. Matthews would often curl up against Bitters’ side on a particular bad day, self-consciousness be damned.

“Talk.”

Matthews shook his head and pressed his face into his knees.

“If you don’t talk, I’m going to rearrange all of your possessions and turn every bottle in the building twelve degrees to the right.”

Matthews chuckled, but didn’t look up. He squeezed his legs tighter.

“It’s nothing, I’m just having an off day. Did you have a good time with Volleyball?”

Bitters cocked his head.

“Who, Jessica? Sure. Why wouldn’t I have had a good time with her? We hang out all the time.”

“Didn’t you go on a date with her tonight?”

This was…unexpected. Did Matthews forget that first awkward conversation they had when they were roomed together? The one where Bitters made it very clear that he was only interested in dicks, and Matthews sputtered out that he didn’t mind, that at one point he’d had two dads before all the shit went down and he lost his home, family, and lungs.

“Why would you think that?”

Matthews shrugged.

“Come on, why would I have gone on a date with Volleyball?”

Matthews coughed and hacked, his whole body rocked and shook. Bitters reached under Matthews bed and pulled out a water bottle. As soon as the coughs stopped, Bitters opened the bottle and helped him take a few sips.

Exhausted, Matthews laid his head against Bitters shoulder.

“Palomo dropped off dinner. He mentioned that she kept feeling up your hair and she stayed after everyone else was gone. Also, she’s really pretty. Seems like your type.”

Bitters laughed and shook his head.

“Ok, for one, she’s totally got a thing for Captain Simmons. For two, she’s _definitely_ not my type. Completely gay, remember? Volleyball and I are just friends.”

Matthews blinked and looked up at Bitters.

“Isn’t Captain Simmons in a relationship with Captain Grif?”

“That doesn’t stop a girl from fantasizing apparently.”

Matthews began to cough again, his whole body wracked with pain. Bitters felt his muscles tense and heard the wheeze from the poor man.

“Shit, ok, no more sitting up.”

Bitters grabbed his own pillow and placed it against the wall of Matthew’s bed. He climbed in and pulled Matthews against his chest so the younger man would have a little bit of elevation.

Eventually the hacks and wheezes died down. Matthews muttered ‘oww…my lungs’, and snuggled deeper into Bitters’ chest.

Antoine sighed and rubbed Kyle’s back.

This…felt right. It always felt right. Sure, Matthews being sick, tearing up his throat, and shaking while coughing until his lungs bled was not ideal, but the intimacy of going through it with him definitely was.

They weren’t just roommates, roommates probably had boundaries like ‘don’t steal my clean underwear just because you can’t find yours’ or ‘no, you cannot snuggle in my bed just because you’re lonely’.

They weren’t best friends, because that’s totally lame and it’s middle school crap. ‘Best Friends’ makes them sound like they’re My Little Pony pals or something. It doesn’t capture the trauma of being assigned a room with a stranger because your last living relative was blown up right in front of you. It doesn’t cover the tiny kid offering up his own meal rations because you mentioned that you’re an emotional eater.

They weren’t brothers. Bitters hadn’t had a brother, but he did have a sister, and his feelings for Matthews were anything but familial. He couldn’t think about Matthews as being related to him in any way without being seriously grossed out. Siblings probably didn’t want to grab each other’s junk…

Combine that with the fact that Bitters _really_ enjoyed their cuddle sessions (probably more than two guys who weren’t in a relationship should, dear god how long had this been going on?), and he realized that he’d had his head buried for way too long.

“You know, Captain Grif says that I’m a maverick.”

Matthews laughed, but it was a fragile, bitter thing. That conversation had hurt him more than Bitters had realized at the time. Bitters didn’t have the heart to tell Matthews that the reason Captain Grif didn’t choose him had more to do with his medical condition and Bitters volunteering to go in his place, than being a kissass.

Captain Grif thought it would help Matthews save face around the rest of the troops, being a geek was supposed to be better than being incapable of fighting, but all he really did was injure Matthews already wussy self-esteem.

“Yeah, I remember.”

Bitters brought one hand up to Matthew’s head and threaded his fingers through his hair. It was easier to understand where the Orange Leader came from after several weeks of working with him. Matthews was supposedly just like Captain Simmons during their early years. Picking on him was like going back in time.

“And apparently, as the maverick, I always get the girl.”

Matthews tilted his head up to meet Bitters eyes. His smile was brittle and insincere. Bitters almost felt bad about teasing him.

“What’s your point?”

Bitters pretended to look contemplatively at the ceiling, and dropped the hint.

“Well, what’s a maverick who’s not into girls get, I wonder?”

Matthews shrugged and looked down.

“By that logic, I’d say the guy.”

Annnnd…hint missed. Bitters laughed and shook his head. It was no wonder they’d taken so long to get to this point, Bitters had always relied on Matthews being the smart and aware one of the two of them…

Matthews looked back up and frowned. It was fucking adorable, the way his face scrunched up like he’d just tasted a lemon.

“What?”

Bitters leaned down and pressed his forehead against Matthews’. Poor guy’s eyes flew open wide, and his jaw fell open. The penny dropped and Matthews breathing sped up.

“I’m hitting on you, Kyle.”

Matthews’ eyes slowly expand until he looked like a crazy cartoon character. His voice scratched as he shifted in Bitters lap, and Bitters felt the younger man’s fists clench against his undershirt.

“Oh.”

“Is that a good ‘oh’, or do I need to request a new roommate?”

Matthews latched onto Bitters hair and slammed their lips together eagerly. The kiss only lasted a moment before Matthews pulled away to cough. He pressed his forehead into Bitters chest, and Bitters rubbed his back gently all the while.

This was right. The coughing was an unfortunate addition, but the rest of it (the snuggling, Kyle’s hands fisted in his shirt, Antoine’s hands on his back) was just perfect.

The coughs finally died down and Matthews smacked Bitters on the arm.

“You’re such an ass!”

“Mmm, but you love me anyway.”

They laughed, Bitters pulled Matthew up so they had an easier time kissing. Eventually, Matthews had to back away to cough, and managed to get spittle all over Bitters chest. Bitters just took his shirt off and dumped it next to the bed, for future use as a spit wipe.

Matthews knelt up and stared down at Bitters, an awed expression on his face. He ran his fingers through the top of Bitters hair with a smile.

“It’s a really good look for you.”

Antoine smiled and pulled Kyle against his chest. Kyle wrapped his arms around Antoine, tangled their legs together, and let out a contented sigh.

“Yeah, I know. Gotta say, I think the celebrity sex hair is working in my favor.”

Kyle laughed and looked up.

“How so?”

Antoine thought about all the time and energy they’d spent to get to where they were. Everything they’d gone through.

“Well, it finally got us here.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for taking the time to get through this! It means a lot! If you liked it or hated it, please leave me a comment.


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